Millennials set to be the fattest generation of Britons, research shows

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Or perhaps I should say: the culprit is you, if you’re overweight. The word with the missing letters, is, of course, “obesity”. “OB__S____Y is a cause of cancer”, says the poster.

The campaign , I think it’s fair to say, hasn’t gone down well. The comedian Sofie Hagen, for example, asked her followers on Twitter whether anyone was “currently working on getting this piece of shit CancerResearchUK advert removed from everywhere”. It was “fat-shaming”, she said. “How is this OK?”

The thrust of her argument seemed to be that it wasn’t fair to link cancer with being fat. And in one sense she’s right. It isn’t fair to link cancer with being fat. It isn’t fair of God, or whoever it is that makes healthy cells go rogue, to make cancer a bigger risk for someone who’s fat than for someone who’s not. It’s hard enough being fat, without doling out a death penalty as an extra little sting. It isn’t fair at all that there’s a link between cancer and obesity. But it is, unfortunately, a fact.

The evidence from the experts (if we’re still allowed to have experts) shows a clear link between obesity and 13 types of cancer. Only 15% of us, according to Cancer Research UK, are aware of that link, which is why it has launched its campaign. And nearly half of us, according to yet another report this week, this time from the World Cancer Research Fund, think that cancer can be caused by stress. Which, the experts say, it isn’t.

I had just turned 39 when I found a lump in my breast. I spent most of the year that followed in a state of terror. At work, I tried to act as if everything was normal, but at night I was kept awake by the thumping in my chest. I read books that told me that dairy products caused breast cancer. I read books that told me to eat a lot of grated carrots. For a while, I tried. I really tried. I gave up sugar. I even gave up alcohol. People told me I looked pale and thin. And then a colleague took me out for a giant steak and a bottle of rioja; and at the first taste of that melting meat, the first sip of that smooth, smooth wine, I felt the joy once again pulsing through my veins.

I believe in evidence. But that might also mean that there is no evidence yet

Six and a half years later I was discharged from the hospital’s care. Three weeks after that, I discovered that the cancer had come back. When I say “the cancer”, I don’t know if I’m right. Was it “the cancer” coming back? Was it a new cancer springing up? Was it caused by the steak? Was it caused by the cakes? Was it caused by the alcohol I should have given up? Or was it caused by stress? My sister died, my father died, then I got cancer, then work got really stressful, then I was dumped, then I got cancer again. That’s a fair whack of stress. Is that a correlation? Is that a cause? Or just bad luck?

Look, I believe in evidence. I’ve seen the studies. Smoking causes cancer. That’s a fact. Alcohol causes cancer. That’s a fact. Eating red and processed meat causes cancer. Lack of exercise causes cancer, and so does being fat. Will any of these things cause cancer for you, or me? We don’t know. But the statistics show us that they might.

If we do all the things we’re not meant to do, we run a real risk. I don’t smoke. I don’t eat much red meat. I do exercise a bit, and I’m not fat. But I do drink. I love a drink. I love two or three drinks even more. Yes, I know it would be better for my health if I didn’t, but drinking delicious wine makes me happy. And I’ve learned – through many years of ill-health that seem, thank God, to have passed – that when I’m unhappy, I get ill.

And that’s the thing the studies can’t capture. Or at least they can’t capture it well. We know that stress can cause changes to the immune system. But there is, according to Cancer Research UK, “no evidence that these changes could lead to cancer”. I believe the organisation. I believe in evidence. But that might also mean that there is no evidence yet.

About half of us will get cancer. The main cause seems to be the modern world. We don’t move enough. We eat the wrong food. Perhaps we drink the wrong water, or breathe the wrong air. Perhaps we don’t have enough friends. Perhaps we don’t have enough love. Or perhaps we don’t have enough joy.

We don’t know. We can’t know. And that’s where we find the big gap. Sure, we should listen to the experts, and try to follow their advice. But let’s not pretend that our bodies are entirely disconnected from our minds and our hearts. I’ll trust the medics on my body, but I’m the expert on my heart. I’m not going to put it on a billboard, but I think I’ll choose how to live what’s left of my precious life.

• Christina Patterson’s The Art of Not Falling Apart is published in May